A Gift Returned
by Veresna Ussep
Summary: The future. Hermione returns to Hogwarts. What an original idea


The usual: I don't own these guys or make money off of this.  
  
Revenge is a dish best served cold.  
  
A Gift Returned  
  
Severus Snape glared at the last few of the First Year Gryffindors who were hastily retreating out the door of his classroom. Like skittish newborn fawns, they were nearly tripping over their own feet in their haste to remove themselves from the malevolent atmosphere that had permeated their first Potions class. "And close the door after you!" he barked at the pale, redheaded Gryffindor girl who was unfortunate enough to lag behind the others. Once the heavy door had been shut, the noise drifting in from the crowded corridors adjacent and above the dungeons was mercifully muffled, and he allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes for a moment and massaging his pounding temples. As if having three classes of dunderheads to teach today hadn't been enough, he was still dealing with this damn headache that had been nagging him for days. The headache-relieving potion he had taken prior to beginning the class had given him little relief, although he knew it to be the strongest and most efficacious one that could be brewed. After all, he had made it himself.  
  
"Merlin's beard," he murmured aloud to the empty classroom. He had been teaching at Hogwarts for far too long. And every year it got a little worse. Well, he admitted to himself, there had been a few years that were more endurable than others. Once the famous Harry Potter and his adoring fan club had been graduated, the next years had seemed incomparably better. And while Albus was still headmaster, he had been reasonably content. But now-he shook his head ruefully and pinched the bridge of his abundant nose. As if having the perpetually Gryffindor-favoring McGonagall as Headmistress wasn't bad enough, here he was teaching another generation of Weasleys. That girl he had ordered to close the door was Harriet Weasley, who was named, he had no doubt, after his least favorite person in the world. She was one of Percy's brats, though she had already gained a reputation of being as prankish as her infamous uncles, Fred and George. She was highly suspected of having unleashing a screaming pseudo- poltergeist on the Hogwarts Express.  
  
At the thought of that, his eyes flew open and he darted a suspicious glance at the table where she had been sitting. Rising swiftly, he crossed the room and inspected the area around her seat, half-expecting to find an unexploded firecracker sizzling in the cauldron. Seeing nothing amiss, he snorted in self-derision. His nerves were definitely on edge if he could even think that a first year would dare to play such a trick on him. After all he was the dreaded Professor Snape, Potions Master and head of Slytherin!  
  
The throbbing in his head had unexpectedly increased. He could almost swear that there was a rope of barbed wire tightening around his skull, and the few faint rays of light coming through the narrow dungeon windows were agony to his eyes. He clenched his teeth in anger, which only served to exacerbate the pain already flooding his body. He closed his eyes again and sighed deeply in exasperation. There was no getting around it. He was going to have to go to the hospital wing and submit to the treatment of the school nurse for a healing spell if he was going to rid himself of the damned headache. Well, Madame Pomfrey was skilled and discrete…  
  
Suddenly, his eyes flew open again and he let loose a particularly nasty curse through his lips. But, Madame Pomfrey was no longer employed at Hogwarts. She had retired at the end of the last school year and her replacement had been announced just two days ago at the banquet in the Great Hall. After the sorting ceremony had been finished, Headmistress McGonagall had risen to her feet and announced in a tone of poorly concealed triumph that former Prefect and Best Girl Hermione Granger was joining the staff as Madame Pomfrey's replacement. The pronouncement had been met with cheer of unbridled glee by the Gryffindor house table and with happy enthusiasm by a number of the staff. If Minerva had heard the snort of disdain coming from Snape's side of the table, she had tactfully ignored it. As had Miss Granger herself, who had entered the hall smiling cheerfully and bowing playfully, finally taking her seat on the far end of the table. "Just like the great Potter, basking in the adoration of the Quidditch fans', he had thought contemptuously to himself. During the meal, she had chatted with some of the teachers and waved affectionately to a number of others. Her eyes had swept over him a few times during the course of the evening, but she had favored him with neither a smile or frown, nor had she shown the slightest indication that she was aware he was bestowing upon her one of his fiercest scowls.  
  
The thought of submitting himself to the ministrations of a former student would have been distasteful under the best of circumstances, but to submit himself to treatment by that obnoxious, know-it-all upstart was unthinkable. He turned to go towards his office, determined to dose himself with another draught of his own potion when another agonizing spasm of pain screamed through his skull. The classroom seemed to darken and spin wildly for a moment, as he clutched the edge of the table to keep himself upright.  
  
  
  
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Hermione found herself humming a cheerful tune as she glanced contentedly around her office. Madame Pomfrey had left the wing admirably well-stocked with provisions, and her first few days had been spent primarily in redecorating the office to her own taste, and hanging up her numerous diplomas and awards. Adding a few touches like her favorite books and plants had been the happy ending to her labor, and she was content to sit for a few moments gazing out the window at the fine fall weather. She sprawled lazily in her comfortable chair, her feet resting nonchalantly on the carefully polished top of her desk. Her only patients so far had been a pair of unlucky third-year Hufflepuffs, who had gotten too close to Hagrid's blast-ended skrewts in their first lesson of the year. Other than that, her only visitors had been her former teachers, all of whom seemed uniformly pleased to see her back at Hogwarts. Of course, she corrected herself, Sybil Trelawney hadn't stopped by. She was the professor who taught "Divination", which was the only class Hermione could ever remember taking that she had considered a complete waste of time. If the old bat did stop by, she mused, it would probably be only to warm her of the "great danger" she was in as the result of returning to her old school.  
  
She was roused from her thoughts by an odd crackling sound arising from the corner of the room where her unlit fireplace stood. She looked quizzically at the shower of red and green sparks spewing out of her grate for a moment and then, to her astonishment, the black-robed specter of Professor Severus Snape emerged from the aperture.  
  
"Professor Snape" she exclaimed, hurriedly removing her feet from the desk and adopting a more dignified pose. "Is something wrong?"  
  
"Miss Granger", he began-his uplifted eyebrow leaving no doubt that her original position had not gone unnoticed-"I'm so sorry to disturb your inner sanctum, but I am in need of…" he broke off abruptly.  
  
In an instant Hermione was next to him, peering anxiously into his face. "What's wrong, Sir?" she asked. She noticed his skin was somehow even paler than usual, and he swayed slightly, as if his legs were barely up to the task of supporting him. She placed a firm hand upon his elbow, as if to keep him from falling.  
  
"It's only a headache!" he replied gruffly and tried to remove his elbow from her grasp. But the next moment his glittering black eyes had glazed over completely, and if Hermione had not quickly murmured a levitating spell, he would have unceremoniously fallen headfirst onto the hard stone floor.  
  
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A smell. A strong, unpleasant smell. But it was fading away. Go back to sleep, go back to sleep, lose yourself in this wonderful blackness.  
  
"Professor Snape. Professor Snape!" A vaguely familiar voice was nagging at him, insinuating itself into his unconscious. But he was tired, so tired. More sleep, yes, that's what he needed. Ignore her, she'll go away.  
  
A firm slap landed on his left cheek. "Wake up! Now!"  
  
Hermione leaned over him, waving the smelling salts underneath that considerable expanse of nose again. A brief shudder, a flutter of his eyelids-no he was still refusing to wake up. She shook him by the shoulders in exasperation. "Come on, wake up you Slytherin son of a bitch!" Still he slept on. "Fine", she muttered placing the bottle of smelling salts back on the bedside table, "Let's try another slap." Maybe if she put a little more force behind it. She raised her right hand high and aimed again at his left check, already reddened by her first attempt. As her hand swung down, his dark eyes abruptly opened. With an agility that was astonishing, his own hand suddenly shot up to grasp her wrist, preventing her from making contact again.  
  
"Oh, good, you're awake", she noted grimly.  
  
"You have a curious bedside manner, Miss Granger."  
  
"Glad you approve of it, Professor. And, may I add, you are the only person I've ever known who manages to sneer even when you're unconscious." She glanced at his fingers, still tightened painfully around her wrist. "If you would be so kind as to release me, I would like to check your pulse."  
  
He complied and she circled her fingers around his own wrist. She seemed satisfied with the intensity and pace of the pulses she felt there and after a cursory check of his temperature she sat back in her chair and inquired, "So, is your headache gone?"  
  
It took him a moment to respond. "Yes."  
  
"Good", she replied. They both remained silent for few minutes, the faint sounds of the student voices filtering through the open windows the only sound in coming into the large room.  
  
"Thank you", he muttered. He raised himself on his elbows to a seated position in the bed. Hermione watched him carefully but made no move to stop or assist him.  
  
"You might want to wait a few more minutes before getting up. You don't want to pass out again, I hope."  
  
"Hardly", he replied dryly. The exertion of sitting up had caused a momentary return of his vertigo, but it was quickly passing. He now felt good enough to swing his legs over the side of the bed. By now he was rather relieved to realize that he was still fully dressed. It was embarrassing enough to have fainted in front of her, but he doubted he would ever have faced her again if she had found it necessary to undress him. To cover his discomposure he frowned and continued in his most sardonic tone: "I must apologize for bothering you. I am usually able to take care of such trivial things by myself."  
  
"But this time your little anti-headache potion didn't work, did it?" She was positively smirking now.  
  
"No", he answered shortly.  
  
"Well, that's hardly surprising, considering the cause of your headache."  
  
He stood up, but found the floor lurching towards him in a most disconcerting way. He sat down again.  
  
"Well, Miss Granger?"  
  
"Yes, Professor?"  
  
He sighed and closed his eyes. "Since I am obviously not ready to leave yet, you may as well tell me why my potion was so ineffective." A thought suddenly occurred to him and his eyes opened, his dark brows drawn menacingly together above them. "Did a student put a curse on me?"  
  
She gave a short laugh and shook her head, "No, you managed to do it to yourself."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I gather you've been spending even more time than usual down in your dungeon with all those cauldrons boiling away over fires. And as drafty as that cellar seems, it appears your classroom has quite inadequate ventilation. Maybe it has something to do with all the sealing spells you cast on your rooms down there. Anyway, have you ever heard of carbon monoxide poisoning?  
  
"Of course", he answered.  
  
Hermione studied him for a moment, unsure if he was telling the truth or bluffing because it was beneath his dignity to admit he was ignorant of the subject. "When you passed out, complaining of a headache and a quick scan revealed no magical cause for your condition, I had my suspicions. There's a wonderful muggle invention called a carbon monoxide detector." She paused again and a hint of a smile played around the corners of her mouth. "I conjured one up and visited your classroom, and found that there was a potentially fatal concentration built up. As I'm sure you're aware, there is a cumulative effect."  
  
His face was carefully neutral, and he made no comment.  
  
"Luckily, your students were not exposed to it long enough to suffer any ill effects. Anyway", she continued, "I managed to devise a healing spell to displace the carbon monoxide and introduce healthy oxygenated hemoglobin back into your blood. And saw to it that your classroom is now properly ventilated."  
  
"Once again I thank you." He tried standing up again. This time the floor remained in its proper place. "You always were an efficient person."  
  
"I'll take that as a compliment. She was watching him carefully again. "Are you sure you're completely well?"  
  
"Quite."  
  
"Well, then, you might as well take something back with you." She rose and went through the door of her office, returning with a large, heavy package in her hand.  
  
"What's this?"  
  
"I was talking with Remus just before I set out to come to Hogwarts. And he mentioned that there was something he always meant to give back to you when he was Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He asked that I give it to you now." She held out the package to him.  
  
He hesitated for a moment and then reluctantly accepted it. He stood staring at the plain brown paper wrapping, looking as if he were suddenly forced to sniff a distinctly bad smell.  
  
"You're welcome" she prompted.  
  
"I sincerely doubt that I have any reason to thank you for giving me something from that wretched werewolf" he sneered.  
  
"Former werewolf" she corrected, with a malicious smile. "And I'm sure you were thrilled to hear that Neville Longbottom was the one to discover the plant extract capable of reversing the effects of the werewolf curse."  
  
He glared at her. "Well, I must say I would be quite surprised if he was capable of doing anything on his own. Tell me, did you have to stand by his side and prompt him every step of the way as you always did in my class?"  
  
"No, actually that wasn't necessary. You see", she added, moving close to him and looking him square in the eye, "there wasn't a sarcastic, bitter, self-pitying bastard of a wizard standing over his shoulder all the time belittling every thing he did."  
  
They stood, staring at each other for a moment. "I see" he retorted. "Well, then I suppose he would have had no need of an irritating, know-it- all, brown-nosing little bitch of a witch whispering directions to him, did he?"  
  
To his fury, he found that she was merely amused by his reaction. "No, I suppose not", she replied quietly.  
  
He bowed his head formally. "Good day, Miss Granger."  
  
"Good day, Professor Snape."  
  
He strode angrily towards the door, his black robes billowing behind him.  
  
Just before he slammed the door shut behind him, he heard her say, "Enjoy your present."  
  
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Severus Snape was now grading papers. Or trying to. Every few minutes, his eyes would wander to the wastebasket where he had thrown the package as soon as he had entered his office. He was determined that under no circumstances would he open it.  
  
After a few more minutes, he threw down his quill in disgust and glared at the offending package. He considered it thoughtfully for a few moments, then came to a decision. He stood up, retrieved the bundle from the wastebasket and tossed it into his habitually dark and cold fireplace. Taking his wand out, he muttered a few words and nodded his head triumphantly as flames burst out around the object. After a few moments, he frowned. It was stubbornly refusing to catch on fire. He pointed again with his wand.  
  
"Accio package", he commanded, whereupon the parcel sailed out of the grate and into his hand. It was the wrapping, he decided. The wrapping had a spell on it that prevented it from catching on fire. He tore open the paper with a vengeance and stopped, stunned at what now lay exposed to view.  
  
It was a book. A book entitled 'Bottled Magic: Potions from Ancient Times to the Present'. This was not just any book; this was the book on potions that grandmother given him before he ever set foot in Hogwarts. A book that he had loved and treasured. The book that had begun his passionate interest in potions that had been his only solace for so many years. A book that he had always suspected Sirius Black had stolen from him when it disappeared from his Slytherin dormitory so long ago.  
  
He turned it slowly over in his hands, enjoying the feel of the rich leather binding, smelling the deliciously ancient scent of the yellowed pages, enjoying the unexpected reunion with such a treasured friend. But mixed in with his happiness was a deep resentment. Was he supposed to be grateful that Lupin had finally returned what was rightfully his to begin with? It was just another reason why he had been right in his resolve to never trust Lupin or Black again.  
  
He sat down in a chair by the fire, his fingers gently caressing the edges of the cover. Even his resentment could not fully destroy the true joy he felt at this moment, as he carefully laid open the book.  
  
A bright cloud of yellow dust and sparks shot up from the page, momentarily blinding him. He sat, confused and dazed for a moment, before his rage overtook him. Of all the asinine, juvenile tricks! After all these years, the Marauders were still making fun of him were they? If either Lupin or Black had had the misfortune to be in the room with him now, he would have happily introduced them to the effects of the Crucio curse.  
  
For a moment, he happily imagined Sirius and Remus cowering before him, screaming in agony. But, these happy musings were suddenly interrupted by the realization that a very private part of his body was feeling exceedingly strange. Frantically, he picked up his wand again and pointed it at himself, muttering every anti-curse that he could think of.  
  
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The night was unusually cold for the first part of September, and Hermione had lit the fire in her office shortly after sundown. She sat now, staring into the blaze, enjoying a glass of a rather fine Chardonnay and waiting patiently. She did not seem surprised to see Snape emerging once again from out of the midst of the flames.  
  
"Professor Snape, how are you?"  
  
"Miss Granger, that book"…he stopped, unable to continue.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"That blasted Black had left a spell in it!"  
  
"Indeed?" She did not look surprised.  
  
He stared at her for a moment. A strange notion had suddenly sprung into his mind. Had it been Black or Lupin who had enchanted the book? The effects of the charm indicated that it had been performed by someone with more than a modicum of knowledge in the area of magical medicine.  
  
"Tell me, Professor, what kind of spell was it?"  
  
He gazed at her with deep suspicion. "Miss Granger, I have been a teacher here at Hogwarts for many years." His voice was dangerously quiet.  
  
"I am certainly aware of that. However, that does not answer my question"  
  
"I think you should be aware that even a Headmistress as prejudicial to Gryffindors as Minerva McGonagall is will not be willing to overlook this outrage!"  
  
Her eyes were round with innocence. "Why, Professor whatever has happened?"  
  
Now he was sure of it. Enraged, he turned around and angrily raised his robes above his waist. It was an interesting sight. To put it bluntly, his buttocks had been enlarged to roughly four times their natural size.  
  
"What do you have to say about this, Miss Granger?" His voice, usually so icily calm and cold was as near to shrieking as Hermione had ever heard it.  
  
"Well, I must say that I think I am looking at the biggest asshole I have every seen." Hermione's voice was irritatingly calm. "Of course, to be absolutely truthful…"  
  
He threw his robes down and stalked over to where she was seated. "Yes?" he challenged with his face inches away from hers.  
  
"I see no difference." 


End file.
